


Dimorphic

by Rubynye



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Genderswap, Other, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-29
Updated: 2011-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-26 16:44:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/285570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's shameless, the way they flirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dimorphic

**Author's Note:**

> Acknowledgements: The anon at [](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/profile)[**xmen_firstkink**](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/) who shares size-kink with me and thus asked for ["girl!Charles loving that Erik can lift her and fuck her up against a wall, and that he covers her body entirely when they fall asleep at night, and that his shirts are always so big on her, (and/or whatever else you might think of), PLEASE.](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/3278.html?thread=5031630#t5031630)" Especially that they asked nicely.  
> 

It comes to a head, as matters often do, during a debate. "Don't think you can intimidate me by looming," Charlotte says, hands on wide-curved hips, full chest outthrust. "It's still a fact that --

"I don't _loom_." Neither does Erik let himself be distracted by feminine charms, though Charlotte has unbuttoned her blouse almost to her bra and the tumbled cloth artlessly frames -- he _doesn't_. And he doesn't loom, he's merely standing close enough that he has to tilt his head down to look at her. If he doesn't want his chin dug into his chest he needs to lean over her a bit. That's not looming.

"'Tis too," Charlotte answers his thought, impish as a child. "But your hugeness won't win this argument." Despite how tightly her lips press together, her mouth, so full and rosy, tucks up at the corner.

"My hugeness?" Erik echoes, drawing the word out just enough, and Charlotte deserves to blush, listening in on his thoughts as she is. Her lashes flutter as if she wants to shut her eyes and turn her face down, and she pushes up her chin bravely, obviously trying to ignore the red glow rising in her cheeks and across the arches of her ears. He steps closer, so that her feet are tucked between his and her breasts, rounded and yielding, brush just beneath his breastbone. "Of intellect, you must mean."

"Among other things." Charlotte tilts sly meaning into the words, tilts her head so her loose bun swings towards her shoulder and her earrings flash in the light. Those earrings are platinum alloy, her buttons are laced with gold, her zipper re-radiates the warmth of her skin; she sparkles with metal that Erik could use to pull her towards him.

"'Things', Charlotte? What terrible imprecision." Instead, he gives in enough to use his hands, curling them around her shoulders, watching her smile unfurl as her eyes dilate to warm black rimmed with night-blue.

"Collective nouns have their uses," she says, flattening her hands on his chest, delicate fingers splaying over his ribs. "As do those massive hands of yours." His attention thus directed, Erik realizes his fingers and thumbs entirely encircle her upper arms, denting plush flesh. He starts to loosen his grip but Charlotte widens her blue-dark eyes, thinking quite deliberately to him, _No, I like this._ She slides her arms around his waist, boldly tucking one hand into his waistband and the other into the hollow at the small of his back where he's still more used to wearing a gun than a beautiful touch; he pulls her as close as possible in clothes, feeling her pleased gasp, drowning happily in her eyes.

Charlotte shuts those eyes, lashes trembling as she thinks, _Distracting_ at him, laced with pleased chagrin, and Erik feels his smile widen, dangerously close to a laugh. He has to inhale, Charlotte tucked so tightly against him she rides his breath, and frankly struggle for the riposte, "My hands might be called 'strong' or even 'elegant', but 'massive'?."

It's not a terribly good reply. Charlotte dents his chest with her little cleft chin and chuckles at him until he simply must taste that effervescent laugh, pulling her onto her toes as he covers her mouth in a kiss. She boldly licks between his lips, opening to him, yielding without a shred of submission, and he lets himself growl, pulling her up further until her knee curls behind his thigh. Charlotte huffs, hooking the other leg over his hip, and Erik helps her, wrapping his arms around her, one hand supporting her lush bottom.

 _You're climbing me_ , Erik thinks, shifting her up further, both her legs around his waist, her thighs tight over his ribs, tipping his head back as Charlotte clutches his hair and growls like a fierce kitten. He yanks her hairpin free, flinging it he knows not where, and as scented waves of hair tumble around his face she laughs into his mouth and bites his lip.

 _I always want to climb you,_ she thinks to him with her tongue tangled with his. _I look at you and I want so badly I can't stand it. I always want..._ She moans and her words fade into images and sensations, a shocking delight as she shows him the physicality she enjoys in him: the span of his hand across her waist, the band of his arm around her shoulders, his body draped all down her back when he sleeps in her bed, that time he lifted her against the wall in a frenzy of impatience and she bit sweet bruises either side of his neck ...

That last looks likely to repeat except that Erik's knees are melting in her heat, so he drops back into his chair, barely avoiding the abandoned chess game, gasping when Charlotte plumps down onto his lap. "The upholstery," he murmurs over her kiss-slicked lips, and she smiles against his.

"My house, my chairs," she whispers back, carding her hands through his hair. "I can't think of a better use for one than for you to fuck me in it."

Oh, she knows what her use of vulgarities does to him. Erik squeezes her so hard he can feel all her buttons slide against his chest as he undoes them with his power, letting go just long enough to peel off his own top. Charlotte brushes soft lips over the base of his throat and up to his chin, grinning at him when he tilts his head to look at her, wriggling on his lap as he drags her pants down her thighs by hand, and it's a ridiculous triumph to undo her brassiere without destroying it but it's a triumph all the same. "Even so," she says, breathless and clear, "this doesn't mean you win the argument."

"Charlotte." Erik curls his hands around her hips to lift her as she shakes off blouse and bra, his own slacks shoved ruthlessly down around his knees. "Do you even remember what we were discussing?" He surely doesn't.

"Not a whit," she tells him, voice sliding high and eyes fluttering closed as she rocks, silky-hot, over the head of his cock, her nipples so firm against his chest he has to lift a hand to her tender breast. She chuckles, finding her angle, and cries out exultantly as she sinks down onto him.


End file.
